


Last Call

by Eerie



Category: Persona 4
Genre: Guilt, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 18:55:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eerie/pseuds/Eerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dojima visits Adachi in prison. Business as usual. Except on this particular day, Adachi's tired of the routine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Call

Hard, sudden clanking on the bars of his prison cell roused Adachi with the same gentleness of a backhanded slap to the face. Having been dozing off on the unyielding slab of concrete topped with an anorexic excuse for a mattress that would serve as his bed for the next umpteen years, he snapped his eyes open and glared with open hostility at the source of the metallic din. It was Yamazaki, standing there with his usual slack-jawed frown that remarkably resembled an old, beaten hound dog. Adachi wondered how he hadn’t even managed to hear the guard approaching, considering Yamazaki’s heavyset physique and tendency to carry himself with a shuffling gait. 

Adachi flashed a toothy, saccharine grin at the guard, knowing that the gesture always managed to piss the man off. It was one of the few things he could get away with and not receive a baton or a fist to the face in return, a lesson he had learned the hard way some time ago after being pushed too far by the guards’ insults and talking back. Not that he would have needed to earn himself a negative stance with this particular man; Yamazaki had hated him from the very moment he set foot there, and Adachi found himself at the wrong end of the man’s makeshift weapon on more than one occasion without provocation anyway. The bruise slowly healing on the left corner of his mouth was evidence of that, though none of the other guards bothered to raise any concern over it. Adachi had worked with men like these before: cops with an over-inflated sense of justice and hostility toward the so-called serial killers. That statistic never really failed to surprise him.

“Get up, asshole. You got a visitor,” Yamazaki snapped and breathed audibly through his open mouth for a moment, as if speaking those seven words had been an exhausting task. He met Adachi’s glare all the while before snorting and snapping his mouth shut with a damp clap, holstering his baton again and working a set of handcuffs from his belt.

Adachi sighed and swung his legs out over the bed to plant his feet on the floor, knowing full well who awaited him out in the visitor’s center. There was only one person crazy enough to bother coming all the way to some high security prison in Tokyo to see him, after all. Shaking his head, Adachi stood up, pausing a moment to stretch for effect, and sauntered lazily toward the bars.

“You know the drill,” the guard barked and rattled the cuffs in a taunting manner.

Adachi smiled again and turned around, moving his arms out through the bars behind his back. He didn’t bother to wince as his wrists were seized by sweaty, plump fingers that did nothing to cushion the brutality driving their movements. The metal rings, warmed from resting against the man’s generous weight all day, snapped over Adachi’s skin a notch too tight. But he was used to that.

The guard shoved him away from the bars and worked a key into the lock before pulling the gate open. Adachi exited his cell obediently and stood in front of his escort, who quickly unsheathed his baton and used its end as a means to push Adachi forward by the shoulder. 

“Dunno why anyone would bother to come see a worthless shit like you,” Yamazaki muttered bitterly as they rounded a corner.

“Maybe it’s my lethal charm,” Adachi mocked and reflexively arched his back when the baton suddenly dug deep into his shoulder.

“You think that’s funny?” the voice behind him spat.

“No. I think it’s hilarious.”

“Pricks like you never learn. We’ll see how smart your mouth is in thirty years.”

Adachi snorted under his breath, refraining from indulging his urge to tell the guard that he really needed to work on a better repertoire of name-calling. The door to the visiting room quickly came into view.

Once the guard waiting there opened the door for them—after casting an obligatory scowl at the prisoner—Adachi stepped inside the considerably warm room and eyed the whooping ceiling fan that did very little to circulate the stuffy air. But at least they had bothered to turn it on that day. He immediately recognized a familiar shock of dark hair just visible over the cubicle wall on the furthest end of the line of booths. Something in his chest tightened at the sight, but he quickly pushed it aside in favor of mild indifference. No other prisoners had visitors that day, it seemed.

Yamazaki guided him to the end of that line, stopping him behind the battered, lopsided chair resting sadly before the small wooden ledge and smudged glass. As the cuffs were worked off his wrists again, Adachi refused to look up, studying the scratches in the shelf instead. He could feel Dojima’s eyes studying him all the while, an appraisal that would doubtlessly hurt if he had bothered to take it in fully.

“Fifteen minutes,” Yamazaki huffed and lumbered back toward the door, where the guard let him out and slammed the thing shut again.

Adachi stood like that for a few seconds longer, knowing it annoyed Dojima but not caring in the least. Finally he sat down and picked the phone receiver from the wall, holding it to his ear before slowly sliding his eyes up to meet Dojima’s.

The man was watching him, concerned as always, the once-faint lines around his eyes deepened in that expression Adachi was all-too familiar with. A slight smile tugged on one corner of Adachi’s lips, but Dojima wasn’t smiling at all.

“Don’t you get tired of wasting your days off like this?” Adachi casually asked and his eyes flickered away from Dojima’s to study the man’s hair. “You’ve got more gray this time I see.”

Dojima didn’t react to his gibe. “How’s your face?”

Adachi smiled fully this time and tapped his bruise innocently before waving it off. “Oh, this old thing? Well, you know how it goes.”

“It’s not a joke, Adachi.”

Adachi’s smile faltered at the unwavering firmness in Dojima’s voice. His reply slipped out before he had even thought about it, softer than he would have intended. “It’s fine.”

Dojima’s face softened by degrees until he looked almost sympathetic. “I can lodge a complaint against them, you know.”

Averting his eyes downward, Adachi shook his head. “No. I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Seconds passed in awkward silence, with each of them sorting out what to say or do next.

“Hey,” Dojima eventually said.

Adachi looked back up to discover that Dojima had turned his eyes down, his fingers fidgeting with the phone’s thin cord. Something about his face was different, almost…vulnerable? Adachi wasn’t sure what it was, only that he found himself staring, waiting in something akin to anticipation for whatever Dojima would say next. Something about this particular visit was already different from the usual, rather mundane conversations they had shared in this room. Usually Dojima would do all the talking, telling him about Souji’s emails, Nanako’s grades, how unbearably quiet it was in Inaba anymore these days. Adachi would simply listen with feigned patience, wondering why Dojima found any solace whatsoever in telling him these things. Their typically one-sided conversations did have one thing in common: Dojima had steadily, and inexplicably, avoided talking about the horrible things Adachi had done. Adachi never had any idea for whose sake this was, but it never failed to inspire some bitter mixture of amusement and annoyance within him. 

Dojima finally looked up, briefly, before looking away again. “I want you to know that we miss you, you know? Even Nanako does.”

Adachi’s brow knit tightly. He wasn’t sure if he was more confused or insulted. “That’s a load of shit, Dojima. You and I both know it.”

Dojima winced slightly at the edge in Adachi’s proclamation, but he continued anyway. “You know what she said to me the other day? She said she wished you could come to dinner again. I asked her why. Why on earth would she say something like that?” He paused to crack a pained half smile. “‘Because he’s the one that made you start to smile again,’ she said. God...” He pressed his free hand against his eyes.

Adachi could think of nothing to say to that. He waited for Dojima to continue on his own, despite how painful it had clearly become for the man.

“How could she forgive you? For something so insanely simple as that?” Dojima’s voice had become softer, smaller than Adachi had ever heard it. When Dojima dropped his hand and looked up at him again, Adachi was surprised to see a tinge of hostility in his eyes. “I don’t want to forgive you, you know. I should hate you. For everything you did.”

“Yeah. You probably should,” Adachi replied in a deadpan voice, unmoved.

Dojima’s face jerked slightly with a bemused snort. “Yeah. So why the hell don’t I already?”

“I can’t answer that, sir.”

“After everything, you still call me that. At least you haven’t changed completely.”

Adachi couldn’t help but smile. Honestly, it had been more of a reflex than an intentional utterance of respect. When Dojima returned the expression, Adachi almost felt guilty. Almost, but not quite. He wondered blandly why Dojima had bothered to wait until now to bring all of this up. It made no sense.

“Why the hell did you come here today?” Adachi asked, allowing his voice to betray a note of boredom as his humor dissolved.

“I don’t know. The same reason I always do.”

“Your usual sneaky, half-assed effort to make me repent?”

“No.” The blunt reply was made without a single beat of hesitation. 

Adachi wanted to laugh. “Well good. Because I can promise you right here and now there’s no hope for that.”

Dojima’s face visibly fell. “I know. Actually, I…wanted to apologize.”

“You? What for?” 

“For everything I might have done. For whatever it was I didn’t do.”

Adachi’s gut curled in nausea, though he wasn’t sure if it was provoked by his irritation at what could only be Dojima’s pathetic attempt to bring about some sort of redemption, or the fact that the man clearly blamed himself in part for Adachi’s actions. He didn’t want Dojima’s apology. He didn’t want this man to inflict guilt on him, to provoke him to respond in some preconceived manner. If anything, he wanted Dojima’s hatred. That the man whose daughter he had played a huge part in nearly killing was here, apologizing like this, only made him sick. 

He had to put an end to this, once and for all. Add one more fatal crack to Dojima’s already fragile psyche. Anything but have this man ever forgive him. It was bad enough that Nanako had the heart of a martyr, but it didn’t, and never would, suit Dojima at all.

“You know what you didn’t do.” Adachi’s reply was little more than a whisper. Though his answer was vague, the look in Dojima’s eyes conveyed an unspoken understanding tinged with pain.

“…I thought…we weren’t ever going to bring that up again.”

“Tch. What does it matter now? I’ve got nothing but time to remember things. And I’ll always remember that night. Clearly.”

“Don’t do this, Adachi.”

Adachi wouldn’t listen. “You know what hurt the most? The way you fired off those lame excuses when what you really wanted to say was that you didn’t want it from me.”

“You know that’s not—”

“No. It is. But hey, it’s all in the past now, right? God knows we’re still great chums.”

Dojima merely looked at him, his face grown stern. “Are you really that upset about it?” His defeated tone hardly matched his expression.

Adachi shrugged. “Nah. I love being shot down by people who lead me on.”

Dojima’s wounded reaction was almost imperceptible, but Adachi caught it anyway. “I wasn’t leading you on; you know that. And I did want—” Dojima paused and sighed with exasperation. “We both agreed that it wasn’t appropriate. It would never work out.”

Adachi rolled his eyes. “God, Dojima. I can’t get over how well you fit the mold sometimes.”

“Five more minutes!” the guard at the door across the room bellowed out before resuming where he left off in his pocket-sized novel.

Adachi leaned out and looked around the cubicle wall to give the guard a disapproving look, noticing that the man wasn’t even interested in Adachi’s presence or the conversation he might be having with his former partner. He smirked shortly before returning his serious attention to the man on the other side of the reinforced glass. 

Adachi spoke low into the phone, his eyes trained on Dojima’s. “Actually, if you really want to apologize, you can make it up to me. Right here and now.”

“What do you want?” 

Adachi’s lips formed the barest hint of a lewd smile at the barely concealed eagerness in Dojima’s answer. “I want to pick up where we left off.”

Judging by the way Dojima’s eyebrows came together he was obviously dumbfounded. He merely looked at Adachi, his mouth poised to say something, though nothing came out.

Adachi laughed and held up his right hand before deliberately lowering out of Dojima’s line of sight. He leaned forward, raising his left knee up to rest on the chair’s lower bar to form a barrier between himself and the guard, and snaked his hand past the elastic waistband of his prison uniform pants. Teasing his cock through the thin fabric of his underwear, he made a show of moving his arm to make it abundantly clear what he was doing. He whispered into the phone again. “Do I have to spell it out? Come on.”

The look of mortification on Dojima’s face would have made him burst out laughing had he not already been turned on from the sheer titillation from his constrained time limit and the potential danger of being discovered.

“What the hell? No! I’m not doing…that!” Though Dojima’s refusal seemed adamant, he too had lowered his voice. 

Adachi figured all he needed was a little push, but he would shove as hard as he could. He shut his eyes and sighed into the phone, leaning his head back slightly. “You were so hard that night, remember? When it was just the two of us left, alone in the station. When I kissed you, shoved my tongue into your mouth and pushed you down on your desk. I knew your cock was big. I could feel it against mine when I was grinding on you, and I knew it would make me scream out.”

“S-stop it…”

Adachi rolled his tongue slowly over his lower lip and continued to move his arm, arching up toward the glass a bit. “I wanted it to. I wanted you to fuck me hard, Dojima. God, I would’ve let you do anything to me that night.”

Adachi opened his eyes halfway, breathing through his mouth into the receiver. “Do it to me. Please.” He watched as Dojima looked cautiously toward the door and knew his resolve had slowly begun to crack from that action alone. 

“Adachi…” Dojima whispered, a slight blush evident on his cheeks. The sight of it both amused and further aroused Adachi.

“Yeah,” Adachi moaned, suddenly thankful for the distracting noises of the clunking fan above him. His cock had hardened to its limit by that time, and he shifted his hand into his underwear to grasp it. Pulling slowly from the base to the tip then down again, he rocked his upper body to coincide with the motions. 

“…Is it good? The feel of my mouth on you?”

Adachi had to stay his hand for a moment for fear of coming right then at the deep, throaty murmur that met his ear from the receiver. Somewhere in the back of his mind he hadn’t expected Dojima to play along with this, and the thinly masked lust in the older man’s voice caught him completely off guard. It was even sexier than anything he had fantasized coming from those lips.

Adachi bit his lip, keeping his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable last warning call to blare out from the guard’s mouth at any minute. “Yeah, it’s hot. So fucking hot. Don’t stop.”

“I wouldn’t stop if you begged me. I’d only suck you harder.”

“Yeah, oh yeah, do that. It’s so good.” Adachi gripped his cock tighter, pulling faster. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know that Dojima had been refraining from touching himself; he wouldn’t. Not there. Adachi knew that instead he sat there riveted, watching and stewing in his own excruciating arousal. He could hear it all just in the quality of Dojima’s voice.

“One more minute!” the guard yelled.

It wouldn’t take much more, Adachi already knew. Especially not with the way Dojima simply breathed into the phone like that. It managed to undo him further than he could have even imagined at this point.

“I’m sucking you, harder, Tohru, faster. You couldn’t pull away from me at this point if you tried.” Dojima had never called him by his first name before. Naturally, the moment he had chosen to do so, he just had to say it like that: a lilt that came off both profoundly intimate and humiliating at the same time. Whatever motivation truly drove that enunciation, it had effectively made all the blood drain from Adachi’s head. 

“Oh, god, Dojima…” It took some instinctual willpower fueled by the fear of punishment to keep his voice under control. Adachi lurched forward, his mouth agape, panting, fist pumping with manic insistence over his rigid flesh.

“You’re going to come. Now. And I’m going to swallow every drop of it.”

“Yes…yes…fuck!” Adachi tensed and shuddered, his cock hot and pulsing as it erupted in his hand. He breathed heavily, slowing his strokes until stopping altogether, still clutching the phone in a white-knuckle grip to his ear. After a moment he finally opened his eyes. Dojima’s grip on the opposite receiver matched his own, the man’s other hand clenched in a tight fist on the narrow shelf, trembling slightly. Dojima’s face, the perfect expression of earnest desire mixed with fascination, might have made Adachi hard all over again. But his time was already up.

Wiping his semen discreetly over the inside of his pant leg, he found himself absently thankful that tomorrow was laundry day. Once the stuff was sufficiently removed from his fingers, he yanked his hand out from his pants and straightened his posture, composing himself for the walk back to his cell. The echo of the guard’s heavy boots began to approach.

“All right! Time’s up!”

“I’ll come see you again,” Dojima mumbled somewhat nervously when the guard approached.

Adachi smiled, but his eyes remained unaffected. “Don’t bother.” He hung up the phone and stood, watching the way Dojima kept the receiver practically glued to his ear, the man's shock evident.

“Let’s go, Adachi.” The guard clipped the handcuffs over his wrists again.

Not bothering to spare a glance back, Adachi marched toward the door, his expression having melted into one of some barely discernible conflict. Their meetings always ended this way: a scathing remark, Dojima’s wounded pride as a result. And still, though weeks or even months might have passed, the detective would return like a whipped dog to see him again. His only visitor, his only connection to the world outside these dank barred walls. His only genuine fuckup in life.

Though he could never completely eradicate the inexplicable paranoia that every one of Dojima’s visits would be the last, Adachi was almost positive that Dojima would never come to see him again after today. It was inarguably better that way, he knew. Dojima had been damaged by too many things in life, irreparably so, and Adachi had single-handedly caused the majority of that pain. Today had been insult to injury. He couldn’t be bothered to mourn what he had just done, not really. Dojima needed to realize and take stock of what he did have left, to know that he still had good things awaiting him. Adachi had none of that, had absolutely nothing to offer but endless, unpleasant reminders of what was far better forgotten.

Still, Adachi couldn’t completely smother the faint, perpetually irritating hope that he was wrong about all of that. Then, at least, he would always have something to look forward to.


End file.
